


Please, Play The Keys To My Heart

by BookishTea



Series: Molliarty [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Flappers, Gift Fic, Historical, Jazz Age, Period-Typical Sexism, Sexual Tension, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishTea/pseuds/BookishTea
Summary: The year is 1925, and after being strung along by a series of refusals, Molly Hooper might have found acceptance in the unexpected, an upper-crust gentlemen's club.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ridiculosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridiculosity/gifts).



> In dedication to the lovely fic writer, who requested: "Molly is a pianist in the 1920s, who sometimes performs at bars, pubs and hotels. She catches the eye of notorious mob boss, James Moriarty and is found useful when she walks in on one of his less than legal dealings."

Molly’s nose scrunched, eyes fixated on her lips. With a slight grimace, she blindly reached for the tube of lipstick by her elbow. Generally, she wasn’t the type of woman to needlessly spend her hard earned money on the luxury that is beauty products - but with her new job, she found herself devoting more time on her appearance.

Taking the lid off, she set it to the side on the vanity and twisted the blood red lipstick upwards.

He came in just as she was half-way through her first layer, and somehow she hadn’t noticed until an appreciative sigh brushed against the side of her cheek. Her breath hitched, sudden jolt almost causing her to draw a line across the length of her chin. If her visitor knew of the accident he nearly caused, he didn’t appear sheepish about it. If anything, he was just as pleased with himself as it were any other day.  “You look delicious.”

Her gaze darted upwards as soon as she finished, raising a brow in confusion. “Do you not mean handsome?”

“No, dear.” Came the amused chuckle, emphasized by the pair of hands that landed on her shoulders. He squeezed hard, letting his fingernails cut through the silken thin material of her dressing gown. Molly winced from the slight pain of it, but made no move to swat his hands away or to push her chair back. Gaze locked on the reflected dark eyes peering at her, simply put, the idea never crossed her mind. Instead, she let her own fall into her lap, grip tightening around the metal tube. Helplessly, she watched a toothy smirk stretch across his face. “No,” he purred, one of his hands sliding down from her shoulder to splay itself on her collarbone. “I mean delicious…”

Molly fought the answering shiver. Three weeks before, she never could have imagined herself in this situation, sighing softly into the air when her visitor’s clever fingers slipped under her gown's collar.

* * *

 

_December 23rd, 1925, London_

 

Anxiously, Molly swallowed the lump in her throat, trying her best to ignore the butterflies flapping in her stomach as she stood on the sidewalk, a hand pressing her cloche hat down so it wouldn’t fly away from the wind and snow assaulting the city. With her neck craned back to fully study the building before her, her eyes were intensely trained on the neon sign that read: _1518._

There was no denying that this was where she was meant to be, but still Molly remained rooted in place. She knew she ought to hurry, that she was spending precious time she couldn’t afford, but she couldn’t help it. When she crossed that street and entered the gentlemen’s club, she feared she wouldn’t leave as the same woman. That there would be no trace of a girl, who in her youth, dissected the dead birds she found around her childhood home. Who for the longest time, foolishly clung to the notion that she could become a doctor.

Molly winced. Her most recent consultation at a university had told her what those dozen of polite rejection letters from other institutes had been wary to blatantly address. Oh, she was plenty intelligent, the academic council had said… For an unmarried woman, but the work as a doctor would be too taxing for her feminine nerves. A secretary, or a nurse(if she was persistent), would be a far better suit.

That very night, in an act of frustration and anger inspired rebellion which she later came to regret, Molly went to a salon and had gotten her beautiful hair chopped off. Overcome with the unexpected sense of self consciousness, Molly dropped her hand to the back of her neck, still baffled by the feeling. She felt oddly naked with the new style.

Sighing wearily, she mumbled into the chilly air, “There’s no use fretting, you need the money, old girl.” The burdensome thought of the rent bills awaiting her at home, Molly lowered her head with a grimace, and crossed the street.

 

As soon as she entered, a neatly dressed man called out while staring at the documents before him, “May I help you?”

Awkwardly, Molly approached the desk, “Y-yes… I have an interview today, for the, er- pianist opening…?”

Finally the receptionist looked upwards, giving her an apparent look over. Embarrassed by his sharp, assessing eyes raking over her person, Molly could do little but nervously shift her weight. She knew she should be used to this now, being treated as if she was a slice of meat in a butcher’s shop, but all the same, her lips pursed in discomfort.

“Miss Hooper, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have much experience playing in clubs and the like?”

“Well…” Molly rubbed her hands together, gaze wandering from the one directed at her to stare at the wall. “Nothing as lofty, sir, but over a year or so I’ve performed in several hotels and pubs.”

The receptionist hummed, fingers absently drumming on the desk. After a minute of tense silence, finally he gave a wordless nod, as though his mind had been made up, and he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Right, follow me.”

“Oh… Um...” Hurriedly Molly trailed after him, leaving the lobby and following him along the attached corridor. While they walked, Molly's thoughts were running a mile a minute. To distract herself, occasionally she tossed a glance into each room they passed. Which only seemed to add more pressure to the severity of her situation. Already she was struck by the differences of this building’s interior to the others she’s played in. Certainly it was far grander, with high ceilings and floorboards that Molly could have used as mirrors. Far from her usual overcrowded taverns, that were sticky from spilled beers and the grime of the low-class citizens of London.

She chewed on her bottom lip, eyeing a bronze statue in a corner. _This is a place you’d be afraid to breathe in_ , she thought, and swiftly hated herself for thinking that. Her stomach was painfully knotted already, and she was only making it worse with her silly thoughts. Roughly clearing her throat, Molly forced herself to say, “This is a fine club you have here, Mr…” The words hung from the tip of her tongue. Sudden frown marring her features, Molly realized with a start that she didn’t have a name to call her interviewer by.  _Was that intentional?_

She had just started to become sick with the idea, when her companion disrupted her spiral of despair. Ignorant to all of this, her guide casually replied over his shoulder, “For the time being, you may refer to me as Mr Spears.”

“Mr Spears,” Molly mumbled under her breath, a wave of relief momentarily washing away all of her worries. Desperately, she hoped that this new information would bring her even the smallest amount of luck. But soon, she didn’t have much longer to dwell on it, as Mr Spears came to a stop before a set of large doors at the end of the hallway. He paused, turning slightly to give her one last judging glance. Weakly Molly smiled. Her companion sighed, a deep and heavy with disappointment sound. Promptly, Molly’s smile fell, shattered and left on the ground as Mr Spears opened the doors.

 

It was like they stepped into another world, so far away it was from the city life outside. Despite it being the early evening, already it was so dark in the spacious room, that it seemed the light fixtures were constantly keeping the shadows at bay. At the far end, over a sea of small clothed round tables and their chairs, Molly could see a stage that was closed off with a scrim ruby red curtain. 

Her heart pounding, she sluggishly ventured forward, ears ringing with the sound of her heels clacking on the floorboards. In the corner, to the side of where she assumed the rest of the band would play, was the piano. A Steinway concert grand piano to be exact. Molly chewed on the inside of her cheek, fingers itching to touch the ebony wood, and the glossy keys - to hear what beautiful music they could create together.

"Well?"

Molly flinched, heart skipping a beat at the sudden noise. Mr Spears was staring at her, annoyance apparent as he gestured to the instrument a few feet away. Fiddling with her hands as her face burned, Molly softly said, "Um... I beg your pardon, sir?"

Mr Spears huffed aloud before he elaborated, "Surely, Miss Hooper you know your skills will be tested during this interview..." Molly hastily nodded, until she understood her companion's pointed look. Mouth forming into a tiny 'o', she darted a glance between the piano and Mr Spears before she hurried to the former.

While she sat down at the bench and readied herself, she noted the other taking his own seat. She tried not to focus on him too much, especially that his leg bounced with impatience - but that is easier said than done. Fingers lying on the keys, for a moment, her mind was completely blank - and for a horrid second, she feared she'd forgotten how to play. And with the fear of failure, of the debt she owed, she trembled. 

Underneath her, the piano, an instrument her doting father had taught her to play, for once didn't greet her like a long lost friend. Now, the expensive keys her fingertips laid across, stared mockingly up at her, sneering that she held the notion that she could impress _anyone_.

Mr Spears's tapping heel, in its own way a metronome, seemed to agree that she was being foolish. Molly anxiously swallowed, pleading chant hanging above her head:  _move move move mo-_

Gingerly, she felt a pair of phantom hands land on her own. "Go on," a familiar voice whispered into her ear, "you can do it, Molls'. One note at a time." Those large hands, callused from years of onerous hard labour moved her's. Everything around her disappeared, the walls of the club fell back like they were made of cardboard, to reveal the living room of her childhood home. Her form returned to that of her youth, the whispered encouragement of her hovering father made her fingers dance.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, as she put the fond memories behind her eyelids into sound. Being taught how to tie her shoelaces; her father supportive of her appetite for knowledge, feeding her stack after stack of books. Shielding her from the school's contempt of her love of the sciences, and telling her she could do _anything_. The gentle, but strong hands that threaded through her hair when she was sick, spooning broth into her mouth and laying a warm moist cloth on her forehead. When she grew old enough to return the favour when he was sick... When what she thought was a common illness, turned into something more... When he became sicker...

Gone were those carefree days, replaced with long mornings spent indoors, which eventually stretched to noon, evenings, and then night. Layers of blankets, promises of future wellness until she couldn't pretend anymore. A callused hand clenching her own, weakening - her denial, hushed by her father's tender smile and eyes. The scent of his favourite flower, marigold, when he couldn't hold her hand any longer.

She was filled with the same sad relief she'd felt then, when her father had died. Molly's throat was tight with grief, as the last note sorrowfully wailed and slowly dissipated. Cautiously, she moved back, turning on the bench to see her interviewer's reaction.

Mr Spears's leg had long since stopped moving, a motionlessness that matched his stoic expression.

* * *

 

The only notice she received that her flatmate had returned home, was the feline stretched on the kitchen floor suddenly leaping to his feet and bounding out of the room. Paused in the middle of stirring dinner's soup, Meena rose a brow as her closest friend stumbled into the room, flanked by an attention starved Tobias. 

"So..." She started, clicking her tongue when her friend repeated the word back. "How was it?" To her irritation, the other woman didn't immediately answer, instead she took her time to seat herself at the kitchen table. Sighing heavily as soon as her bottom settled on the chair. "That bad?" Meena mumbled, directing her focus back to the soup.

"Well... I got the job." 

"That's terrific news, dear!" Meena's happy smile morphed into a frown, "Is it not?"

"Yes, but..."

"But? What?"

Molly shrugged, leaning down to the side so she could scratch the top of Tobias' head. They let his pleased purring, and the bubbling broth fill in the space of conversation while Molly figured out how to voice her worries. "It isn't like the other places I've worked at, Meena. It feels like if I mess up there, then the whole of London will know about it."

Meena moved the pot back to a cool element, and turned the stove off. "And? Don't tell me, Molly Hooper is afraid of a couple of old gentlemen?"

"Old _and_ rich gentlemen."

Her friend snorted, and spun around again to face her. "Rich they might be, but that does not mean that they aren't human." Pointedly, Meena waved her wooden spoon.

"I suppose you're right..."

"Of course, I am, dear. Now, wash up before dinner is served."

 

That night she dreamt that she was back in that room, dreading the next words that would come from Mr Spears's mouth. Carefully, the receptionist rose to his feet. "Miss Hooper," he started, the gentleness of his tone making Molly want a herd of elephants to crash into the room, and to crush her to a pulp with their mighty feet. That, would most certainly be a thousand times better than being rejected... Again.

"Here at the 1518 gentlemen's club, there's a certain standard that our guests expect from us."

Molly's fingernails dug into the meat of her palms, and frantically she willed the elephants to appear. But if they couldn't make the journey, horses or even a flock of sheep would do!

"And while you work for us, you will take not only great care in your piano playing, but your wardrobe as well."

"Uh..." Molly's mouth fell open.  _What?_

Mr Spears gestured to her person, nose scrunched in disgust at the attire she'd worn. "If you can't afford something of a better taste, you'll be borrowing a dress until you can afford to purchase your own. Do you understand all of this?"

"Er- Yes, sir... But..." Molly floundered for a second. "Does this mean I have it? The, uh, job I mean?" She winced at his miffed exhale, calmed only when Mr Spears shot her a frustrated smile.

"Yes, Miss Hooper, you've been hired. Congratulations."

For the first time that day, Molly didn't have to struggle to grin. "Thank you, Mr Spears! You won't regret this."

"...Please, make sure that I don't..."

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, early afternoon, she was called in for her first rehearsal with the rest of the band. She'd been so excited the day before, that hardly she'd gotten a wink of sleep. And yet, she felt fantastic! 

With a skip to her step, she felt as if the world around her was brighter - that there was more colour to the sky. Things were turning around, and for once she was going to be okay. Slipping in through the back door(Mr Spears had told her the front were solely for guests), she stepped around the bustle that was the kitchen prep, and shuffled her way into the hallway. Humming lightly under her breath, Molly swung her purse as she approached her dressing room.

Since she was to be the only lady musician, they'd placed her along with the cabaret dancers. Which, although she was a bit nervous about, at least it was better than a dusty closet by her lonesome. Pushing the door open, she was greeted with laughter. 

With a deep breath in to steel her nerves, she walked forward. 

Everything was in a confusing state of chaos. The room was overfilled with a seemingly limitless amount of makeup, and costumes. On perfumed air, Molly could hear giggles and whispered gossiping. It reminded Molly of the books she read about faraway jungles. Famous explorers confronting the wilderness, and observing dangerous creatures. 

"And who might you be?"

Molly snapped away from her daydreaming, blinking owlishly at the black spotted jaguar-  _young lady_ , staring at her. She was leaning against a vanity, dressing gown loosely hanging from her shoulders to reveal her... Molly looked up at the ceiling, embarrassed by the knowledge that her face was an unflattering shade of red. She attempted an introduction, but she sounded more like a squeaking mouse.

From the side, she could hear someone's inquiry, "Is she all right?"

"Trust me," the jaguar laughed - a dainty sound, like champagne glasses clacking, "she's fine." 

Sucking in a deep breath, Molly brought her gaze down. The outfit the woman across from her wore, was a beaded fringe evening dress, that had grown popular over the years. The hanky hemline came to knee length, exposing the smooth, elegant legs that went on for days... No, that went on for  _years_. The still nameless woman didn't seem offended by Molly's gawking, in fact, while smiling invitingly she deliberately crossed one leg over another. Something, Molly abruptly looked away from.

This was dangerous, she was completely lost and in uncharted territory. She feared with one wrong move, there'd be no going back... Whatever that meant. As though sensing the mess that was her thoughts, the jaguar grinned, taking another bobby pin from her desk to hold her inky silken hair back, "I don't think I've seen you around, and I know everyone here."

"No..." Molly admitted after collecting herself, "It's only my first day."

"Oh," cooed a bat, "she's fresh blood!"

"F-fresh..." Molly broke off with a frown, questioning whether she should have accepted Mr Spears's offer of employment.

"Tell me," the jaguar purred, "does a green thing such as yourself have a name?"

"O-of course I do! I'm Molly. Molly Hooper."

The dancers repeated her name back, as if tasting it. One which Molly deemed an emerald tree boa, hid a chuckle behind her ostrich feathered fan. Molly didn't look at her too long, as once more, the jaguar stole all of the attention when she said, "It is a pleasure meeting you, Molly. I'm called Mama."

"Mama?" Molly sputtered.

The jaguar's eyes narrowed, and she placed a gloved hand on her hip. " _Yes_ ," she stressed, "Mama, 'cause I take care of the girls here. You might not be a dancer, but if you have any problems out there, you leave it to me."

 _Oh_. "Thank you, I... I really appreciate that."

Mama shrugged, "It's a cruel world out there for a lady, it's safer if we stick together like glue. Now, Miss Davies, you seem to be the same size as our Molly..."

"I think I might have something she can borrow."

"Fantastic! Molly? Follow Miss Davies along, she'll take you somewhere to change."

Before she could make a comment on any of this, Molly's arm was gripped tightly and she led out of the room by a toucan- er, _Miss Davies._ Two doors over, they entered a powder room. Standing in the middle, Molly gave it a confused look over. 

Hand on the doorknob, the other woman smiled brightly at her. "Wait here, I'll go find you something."

"Oh, but Miss-"

The other woman cut her off with a snort, "Please, we're family now. Call me Rosie, everyone does."

"...R-right, um... Rosie, I really appreciate you doing this for me... But..." Molly stifled the rest of her words by chewing on her bottom lip. Truly, she didn't want to seem ungrateful for the kindness this stranger was bestowing on her... However, she was a little worried about the stares she'd get if she walked on stage while wearing something similar. 

From the door frame, Rosie tilted her head. Unaware of how intimidating she looked with her butterscotch blonde hair curled into a bob, overdrawn red lipstick, and her scandalizing slip dress.

For the life of her, Molly couldn't imagine wearing something like that. Her fingers twisted the fabric of the front of her plain dress. For the longest time, her Sunday best had treated her just fine, she didn't see why that had to change now.

A stiff smile stretched over Rosie's face, "You don't want to be mistaken for a floozy, huh?"

Horrified, Molly quickly waved her hands out in front of her, "N-no I-"

"Don't worry," the dancer said with a wink, "I'm not insulted. I'll be right back with that dress of yours." The door came to a firm close, leaving Molly to stare slack-jawed at it.

* * *

 

Silently she stood before a full length mirror, blankly staring at her reflection. She didn't recognize herself. Maybe if she only wore Rosie's attire she could, but paired together with Mama's makeup, and it was like a different person was peering back.

Molly was thankful that Mama had stayed true to her wishes, and had went for a natural look. The red lips, although eye catching was solely because of the colour, and not because they'd been overdrawn. The outfit on the other hand... Molly's brows knitted together.

The gown she wore was made up of a midnight blue slip, with a beaded lace tabard to cover it. She wasn't too fond about wearing jewellery, especially since she'd be staying in a dimly lit corner, but the other girls insisted. And with her hematite drop earrings, and simple black t-strap shoes, she looked more confident than she actually was.

With one last study of her appearance, Molly reassured the other her, "You look beautiful." The reflected Molly nodded decisively back. "Okay," she sighed, "let's do this."

 

Assisted by one of the girls, she was led downstairs. The anxiety she felt about what the other band members would think of her, was apparently unfounded. It wasn't as though she was hired around the same time as the others, so she was a little nervous about being the outsider - especially when she learned the past pianist hadn't simply left, but had died of pneumonia. The boys, however, had quelled these needless worries and had quickly welcomed her into their midst with open arms.

Admittedly, she was taken aback - as from her previous experiences, men tend to get a tad queer when forced into working alongside women. These musicians were promptly helping to rid her of these presumptions. And in a confusing turn of events, she found herself going through a couple of songs as though she'd had these jam sessions for years.

Half an hour later, they took a break. Leaning back on her bench, Molly smiled affectionately at the members around her, who cracked jokes as if she was one of them. Fred, a trombone player from Leeds, was the first to wander over. Propping himself on the side of her piano, he gave her a friendly smile, offering his pack of cigarettes.

"No, thank you," she murmured, giving him a sidelong glance. Particularly, at the warmth his blue eyes held, and how soft his dirty blonde hair looked. It was rather strange, it was as though the club owner had gone to the trouble of collecting attractive - and not to mention, talented people. Which in all honesty, shouldn't surprise her, but it was hard to not feel misplaced here. It was as although she was the ugly duckling with her small awkward body...

"Say," she started, hoping to be distracted from her dismal thoughts, "how long have you worked here, Fred?"

The trombone player took another deep inhale from his cigarette, tilting his head back to blow smoke into the curling darkness. "Three years or so," he said after a moment, scratching the back of his neck. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm just curious is all. Have you met him? The owner?"

The casual atmosphere was swiftly sucked from the room. Startled, Molly glanced around, wordlessly questioning why it'd gone so quiet.

Robert, a drummer who'd just been in a fiery debate with a clarinetist named Raymond, whether he was keeping pace - stopped in the middle of an argument, to turn around. 

Molly felt her face start to warm, "Um... Did I say something wrong?"

"Not exactly."

At the interjection, everyone looked across to the stage. Mama, in all of her glory, held the thick stage curtains apart. Lights bathing her, she appeared as though she was an otherworldly being that wore a dress spun from the stars themselves. Molly swallowed loudly. Slipping through, she gave the boys a look that had them scurrying. Heels clacking on the small stairs to the side, the dancer made her descend and strolled over.

"I like you Molly, I really do."

"Oh! Um, th-thank you-"

"So," Mama interrupted with a raised finger, "I'll give you a bit of advice... If you're willing to listen?" Hurriedly Molly nodded. The smile on Mama's face didn't quite reach her eyes, and Molly's stomach knotted at the sight. "We're a family here, and we do good by each other. And at the head of that, is the boss man who makes all of this," she gestured to the surrounding room, "possible. Do you understand that?"

"Y-yes, but..." Molly faltered when Mama patted her head. "Will I... Do I ever get to meet him?"

"I ought to not say it's impossible, because you can never tell what he's going to do next. But no, he doesn't interact with us entertainers."

"But have you talked to him?"

The hand caressing her hair fell away. And for a moment, Molly watched as Mama seemed to fight with the need to say something. Eventually the truth won out, and she admitted, "I'm not sure."

Molly frowned. _Not sure?_

Unwillingly, Mama conceded, "None of us have seen his face. The only thing we know of him is a letter."

"A... A letter?"

Mama hummed, eyes turning distant. "Sometimes, if he takes a liking to you, you get a present on his behalf. It's always nice, beautiful things, and you'll find a note attached."

Molly leaned forward, voice dropping to a hush. "What did it say?"

For a second, Mama was lost in the memory, wistfully tugging on the pearl necklace around her throat. Until, all of a sudden, she breathed as though her soul was fleeing from her lips. Molly was mesmerized, engulfed by the deviously simple, " _M_."


End file.
